The Duel
by RazanurTuk
Summary: Backstory for D&D character - setting based off XIV but original universe. The bastard of a noble elezen family is challenged to a duel by his girlfriend's fiancé.


_The Bad Breath_ was deafening. Alain squinted at the pages of his book in the dim light, as if that would somehow manage to block out the racket coming from a group of bards not twenty yalms away from him. Music wasn't an unusual occurrence in the terribly-named pub they were haunting this week, but the volume was a surprise. He remembered one of the musicians saying something about materia-enhanced instruments, but never in his wildest dreams would he have predicted this amount of din. The barkeep, hovering in the farthest corner the establishment provided, was trying to put on a brave face and continue his job, but Alain could tell he was seriously reconsidering his decision to allow the musicians to play. The elezen had named his bar The Bad Breath, so Alain was of the opinion that this was merely the latest of many decisions he should probably reconsider.

Noel shifted in her seat, her weight a comforting pressure against Alain's back. They were squeezed into a tiny booth nestled between the kitchen door and the bar. It was vaguely claustrophobic but it sported a good view of the entire room, which was why Noel had picked it. She was tapping her feet to the music, Alain could tell, and he smiled as he turned another page in his book. This was the usual for them on a late night out - her sitting on the inside of the booth, enjoying the music and company, and him on the outside, the leading deterrent this side of the Gloom. It had only taken a few exceedingly one-sided scuffles for news to spread that it was pointless trying to start any brawls if Alain was present. Rumor had it the only person who'd broken his skin was the goblin that did his tattoos. Untrue, but Alain wasn't about to correct anyone on the matter. After years of practicing shield magic by necessity, he was more than happy to not have to use it.

The crowd within the bar moved to the music, and from the mass of people Alain spied the occasional colored flash of magic. Little more than aetherial sparks for the most part, showy but nothing else. Few people could claim any real aptitude with magic, and less had access to the materia needed to harness aether in the first place. The seedier bars of the Gloom were the one place in Solitude that frequented the right mix of affluent people with carefree attitudes to see such displays. Everyone in the nightlife scene wanted to think they were on the cusp of a revolution - young and wild, they were going to finally do something about the oligarchy that ruled their city. Half the people Alain saw on a night were the very heirs to the noble houses themselves, rebels in thought but nothing more. Noel herself hailed from one of the Eight, but at least she never claimed to be in search of anything more than a good time.

Noel leaned back into him. She hooked a finger around one of his long, flat ears and pulled, turning his head so she could speak directly into it. She had to yell nonetheless. "Look who just showed up!"

Alain raised his eyes from his book and swept over the crowd. It did not take long to find an individual who very much did not belong in the late night drunken crowd. Alain groaned. He felt Noel's shoulders shake with laughter, and then she yelled into his ear again.

"Think he's here for me or you?"

"Gods, I hope neither." Alain muttered. His words were lost under the din.

The elezen who had entered the pub was tall (though, Alain always noted with a sense of pride, not as tall as him) and thin, with flowing chestnut hair. Even in the dim lighting his eyes sparkled, golden and perfect just like the rest of him. Varian Villenueve, heir apparent to House Villenueve, richest of the Eight Noble Houses. Tonight he looked it, clad in elegant leathers trimmed in ornate silver that gleamed in glaring opposition to the dingy, smoke-filled bar. He could not have looked more out of place if he'd tried, yet the band played on and the crowd danced, unaware of his entrance.

For his part, Varian ignored the crowd as much as they ignored him. His eyes searched the room, his mouth pulled into a stern line. His gaze fell onto Alain, and his expression turned into a scowl.

"Uh oh. You're in trouble!" Noel yelled into Alain's ear.

With purposeful strides, Varian crossed the room. He came to a stop a few yalms in front of Alain and Noel and pulled himself up tall, his chest puffed out. He raised a gloved hand, pointed at Alain, and spoke.

Not a single word reached Alain's ears. He watched Varian's lips move, tracking the elezen's hands as he gestured passionately along with whatever speech he was giving, but the band droned out all meaning. After maybe a minute Varian stopped, hands on his hips and triumphant look on his face. He waited, apparently expecting some sort of response.

Alain pointed at one of his long ears, shrugged apologetically, and mouthed 'Sorry I didn't get that.' Against his back, he felt Noel shaking with laughter.

Varian blanched, his shoulders drooping. Then he took a large inhale, pulled himself up again, and yelled. The band droned out most of his words, but a few managed to cut through. "-llenge - bel - honor -!"

Alain put up his hands to stop him, shook his head and shrugged again, helplessly.

Varian let out a sharp exhale, his nostrils flaring. He rolled his eyes. Alain distinctly saw the words 'fuck it' cross his lips, and then he drew his gunblade. It was a long, thin thing, akin to a fencing sword, and the handle sloped elegantly where the blade swept into the barrel of a flintlock pistol. He pointed it at Alain's chest. Alain sat up straighter, his shoulders tensed, though noted Varian's finger was nowhere near the trigger.

The band stopped, choppily, like some clamorous disaster in reverse. A hush fell over the room in fits and starts, with confused murmuring taking the place of blaring instruments. Finally it was all but silent, though Alain's ears still rang.

"Ahem," Varian cleared his throat, now the undeniable center of attention. He did not lower his gunblade. "I have come to challenge you, Alain Archambault, for the honor of my beloved Noel Rousseau, whose name you continue to sully with your…" He searched for words, his eyes flicking between Alain and Noel. "...childish obsession!"

Muttering shot through the crowd. Alain did his best to appear unphased, though he could feel the tips of his ears grow hot, betraying him. He heaved a sigh and looked back down at his book (it was hard to look away from the gunblade aimed at his chest). He turned a page, deliberately. "Oh, an honor duel?" He said, exuding boredom. "I'm pretty sure the lady can duel for her own honor."

Noel pushed herself up off his back. "That's right." She said, flashing her teeth in a wicked grin. She tossed her long bangs out of her eyes and stared at Varian. "Problem with my honor, Villenueve?"

"I- my lady, I-" Varian stammered, the gunblade wavering slightly. He readjusted his grip. "This half-born holds assumptions that are far beyond his station! The fault lies not with you, my lady, but as your betrothed I am duty-bound to my actions." His golden eyes locked with Alain's again, the lines on his face hard. "The bastard of house Archambault should know his place, and that it is not by your side."

"Oh damn." Across the table, two of their other friends, an au ra and half-elezen, had been quiet until now. Alain glared in their direction and they both looked away. Neither of them were nobility, but their right to exist in Noel's presence had never been questioned.

Alain returned his attention to Varian. The gunblade had not moved. Alain snapped his book shut. "Oh sod off, Villenueve. I'm not dueling you. We both know that wouldn't accomplish a damn thing. It ain't my fault you're so hopeless your daddy had to buy you a wife."

"Daaaaaamn." Again from the other side of the table. Alain didn't glare at his friends this time, refusing to give Varian the victory of looking away first. The room fell quiet, waiting.

"Gods above." Noel broke the tense silence. "Fine, if it'll make this nonsense wrap up faster, Villenueve, I accept your duel for my honor."

The gunblade drooped. "But, my lady, I-"

Noel held up a hand and Varian stuttered into silence. "I believe it is my right to select a champion to fight on my behalf?"

"I- yes?"

"Well then, Alain Archambault, I nominate you to be my champion. If you would." Noel waved a hand towards Varian. Alain stared at her. The corner of her lip twitched upwards in the slightest hint of a sly smile. Alain leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Really, you're gonna make me do this?"

"Yep." Her voice wavered in a barely-contained giggle which Alain found adorable despite the circumstances.

"Why?"

Her face became serious. "Because watching two guys fight over you is super hot."

Alain didn't have a comeback to that. He sighed and shook his head, accepting defeat. He tapped a hand on the table and their friends leaned in, conspiratorially.

"Zella I need your sword." Alain said, looking at the half-elezen across from him. She flinched.

"I um… That is... You can use it, but it's not very sharp…"

"Why not?"

She rubbed her neck, staring up at the ceiling. "Well I haven't actually needed to use it in so long I kind of… forgot to sharpen it?"

Alain closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Okay well… it's all we got so just hand it over, please."

She did, and Alain tried to ignore the slight dusting of rust on the hand guard. He set his book on the table. Noel leaned forward and pecked a little kiss on the tip of his nose. "Comport yourself well, my champion." She smiled. Alain tried to smile back but knew it came off more as a grimace. He stood, turning to face Varian. The crowd parted to give them space. Varian moved back a few yalms, holding his gunblade aloft and taking a fencer's pose. Alain stepped into the cleared dance floor. The sword in his hand felt heavy and awkward.

"Alright, guess this is happening." Alain muttered. He held his sword up in what he thought was a ready pose. "Honourable duel, thy prithee?" He stated, in the Elezahn tradition.

Varian nodded. "Honourable duel, I say aye." He responded.

"To first blood?" Alain realized he should have asked this before accepting, but he knew the look of murder in a person's eye and had never seen even a flicker in Varian, which was more than he could say for most heir apparents in this bloody town.

Varian nodded. "By my houses' honor, to first blood."

Alain tightened his grip on his sword. "Magic disallowed, I assume?"

Varian's gunblade dropped in the slightest. He bowed his head, his copper hair cascading over his shoulders. He put a hand on his chest. "I am not so dishonorable as to deny my opponent the one advantage he has." He said. He looked up once more, his golden eyes blazing. "Let it be a real fight or none at all!"

_Gonna be a long one, then._ Alain nodded. They stood at the ready, facing each other, and waited. For a moment _The Bad Breath_ stood frozen in time, all bated lungs and tensed muscles.

Noel stood. She held up a hand, clenching a napkin dyed red with what Alain assumed was wine from her own glass. "Fight!" She announced, swinging the napkin down and spraying thin droplets in an arc before her. There was a great whoop of excitement from the watching crowd, and then Alain stopped paying them any attention.

Varian, gunblade in hand, moved gracefully. The ancient Elezahn art of fencing was renowned worldwide for seamlessly blending sword fighting with gunplay, wearing down opponents until they presented the opportunity for one deadly, precise shot. Alain knew Varian wouldn't fire even if, in his inevitable clumsiness, Alain gave him an opening, but at the moment that offered little comfort. Varian's gunblade gleamed in the light, deadly as it was beautiful, and every defensive bone in Alain's body reacted.

Alain brought his borrowed sword up to parry, focusing on the materia forged into its handle. It was clumsy work, willing aether through a tool altogether foreign to him, but he materialized shield magic nonetheless. Bright blue in hexagonal patterns flashed for a moment and then faded. Varian's steel bypassed Alain's halfhearted parry, but the blade caught in the air and glanced off harmlessly, cascading a shower of blue aether in its wake. Varian scowled and lunged again. The tip of his gunblade moved whip-fast, faster than Alain could hope to try and deflect in time, but he didn't need bother as the blade found no purchase against his shield, skidding off once more.

Alain took the opportunity to attempt landing a blow of his own, but Varian sidestepped fluidly, dodging Alain's clumsy strike. Varian put a few yalms between them, face set in a deep, contemplative expression. Alain used the moment of pause to will more aether into his shield spell, stabilizing it's initially hasty construction. The hexagons flashed, visible again for the barest second, the air around them shimmering.

"Come on, get him!" A voice called from the crowd, though who was being cheered on was unclear. Alain's arm was already growing weary from holding the sword and he readjusted, putting both hands on the hilt. A snicker moved through the bar which he tried to ignore. He was no warrior and never claimed to be, but all he needed was one good hit on Varian for victory. Varian had made a mistake allowing Alain's magic to be used, though admittedly it had prevented the engagement from being embarrassingly one-sided. Now it was a game of attrition on both of their parts, but Alain was confident his shield would not be the first thing to break.

During this time Varian kept moving, circling to the right along the edge of the watching crowd. Alain turned to keep facing him, sword at the ready. Varian did not make to attack, instead continuing to circle, his eyes flicking over Alain - his hands on the sword, his feet on the floor, his eyes and where they were looking. Alain kept himself braced and ready.

Behind Varian, Alain could see Noel and his friends, watching intently. He took a moment to lock eyes with Noel, who was now sitting atop the table. She raised her hands in fists and made a couple swift jabs in the air in front of her. 'Get him!' she mouthed.

At that moment Alain realized just how much of an advantage he had. With no shield to protect him, Varian had to make sure he was able to defend himself against any attack Alain might try. On his own end, Alain knew he was never going to be able to deflect a blow with his sword - but he didn't even need to bother. _Idiot,_ he berated himself, _just go for it, what are you afraid of?_

Varian must have seen the realization in his eyes, because he was already stepping backward when Alain sprung. Alain slashed out and Varian easily caught the blow, sweeping his gunblade along Alain's sword and redirecting it away from himself. He counterattacked with a swift jab to Alain's side but found no purchase before he was forced to step back and duck away from another strike. Alain pressed forward, driving Varian slowly backward as he lashed out again and again, paying no mind to Varian's counterplay. For every blow Varian stopped to parry he returned three in kind, but Alain simply ignored them all. Slowly the calm focus on Varian's face began to crack, giving way to doubt and concern as he realized his delicate dance was being overtaken by sheer brute force. Finally he dodged to the side and around, taking himself back to the middle of the floor and out of Alain's reach. Alain turned to follow but did not lunge, panting and holding the sword low.

"Boo!" A voice in the crowd jeered. "Worst duel ever!"

Alain chuckled at the look of panic that crossed Varian's face. He raised a hand and beckoned. "Come on, fancypants." He sneered. "What'll your daddy say if you can't even beat the local bastard?"

Varian's nostrils flared and he lashed out. Alain didn't bother dodging in the least, allowing the blade to ricochet off his shield. Varian took a step closer and slashed again. Alain waited, still catching his breath and looking for a moment to strike back. Varian was tilting and it was only a matter of time now. To his left, Noel was watching and he could see the smile on her face, the sparks of aether from his shield making her eyes dance silver.

A low rumble moved through the bar, shaking the walls. Alain's eyes snapped to the door and Varian, mid-swing, looked down at the ground in surprise. His blade did not stop moving.

Something cold slapped down the side of Alain's face. He heard the clatter of his glasses hitting the floor. "Alain!" Noel's voice called, and for the first time that night she sounded worried.

Alain looked up to see Varian stock-still, gunblade held loose in front of him. The tip was blurry now in Alain's vision, but he could tell it was red. Varian's eyes were wide, locked on his face. Something warm and wet dripped down Alain's neck. Then pain lanced like fire from his temple to his jaw and he slapped a hand to the side of his face, letting out a curse that was half pained shriek.

"Alain!" Noel slid off the table and rushed to his side. She grabbed his wrist and moved his hand away from his face. This close he couldn't see enough to gauge her expression, but he heard her inhale sharply. "Ragnar's bones, he got you good."

Alain looked down at his hand. Everything was too blurry to make sense of but he saw red, and lots of it.

Amidst the silent staring of the crowd, Varian swallowed, the end of his gunblade trembling slightly. Alain saw him steel himself and then sheathe his weapon. He pulled his long hair out of his face, and when he looked up again his expression was once again cool, collected. "I win!" He declared, and his voice was clear. He raised his hands and bowed to the crowd, turning about to address them. "According to the laws set by our kings and queens from time immemorial, I have triumphed today! Let it be known that Varian of house Villenueve has bested the bastard of house Archembault, proving once and for all that no half-blood could hope to chall-"

Alain broke away from Noel and tackled him. They pitched into the crowd amidst startled yells and slammed into the floor, sticky and pungent with spilled drinks. Above the forest of shoes and legs, Alain heard someone yell "BAR FIGHT!" and then the crowd descended into chaos.

Tired as he was, Alain only managed to get a few somewhat pathetic hits in on Varian before hands grabbed his shoulders and hauled him up and away. The crowd buffeted them this way and that and he stumbled, but someone put a hand on his back and steadied him. His arm was pulled over thin shoulders and he smelled Noel's perfume. She was yelling.

"No! Don't go get the bloody guards-! Dammit!" She shook her head. "Xander get us outta here! Zella, get his glasses!"

A large shadow moved in front of them, and a scaled hand grabbed the front of Alain's jacket. Few races could compete with elezen in height, but au ra were one of them, and Xander was taller than most. He bullied them through the crowd, which even in the midst of a drunken brawl knew enough to get clear fast. They slammed through a side door and spilled out into the cold Solitude night.

"Alright quick, this way. Down that side alley."

They shuffled over pale grey and dirty brown cobblestones, through craggly weeds and rank puddles of standing water. The Gloom was called so because it was the lowest, darkest section of Solitude, a city absolutely crawling with low, dark places. The rest of the city rose for thousands of yalms above them, all quiet at this time of night. The commotion inside The Bad Breath echoed upward, surely drawing the attention of every guard still on patrol. Their quartet slunk and weaved through dark side streets until the noise fell into the background.

Noel deposited Alain onto a crumbling windowsill. "Xander, Zella, would you go keep watch please?" She asked, whispering even still. "Lots of people getting arrested tonight and I'd rather it not be any of us."

"We're on it."

"Thank you." Noel sighed. She knelt in front of Alain and gently took his chin in her hand, turning his face. "How you hanging in there, darling?"

Alain let out a sharp puff of air from his nose. "Well feels like a coeurl tried to rip my face off." He muttered through clenched teeth, trying to move his jaw as little as possible.

She didn't laugh. Without his glasses she was nothing more than a grey and red blob, and with a thrill of fear he suddenly very much needed to see her expression. He reached up and gently moved her hand from his chin, trying his best to look her in the eyes when he could only guess as to where they were. "Did Zella find my glasses?" He asked.

Noel hesitated to answer. "Here, let's take care of this first." He heard her rummaging at her side, and then she pressed his grimoire into his hands. "I don't know healing magic so you'll have to do it." She said. "Do you think you can?"

Alain ran his thumb over the corner of the book, feeling the familiar warmth of the materia embedded within it's spine. He couldn't read a word of it right now, but that wasn't necessary. "Yeah I can."

Red and grey bobbed in his vision - Noel was nodding. "Okay good." Her voice shook slightly. Alain drummed his fingers on his grimoire nervously and closed his eyes.

"Wait-" Noel leaned forward. "Not yet." She reached a hand out, slowly. "Sorry if this hurts." She whispered. He felt a strange pressure on the side of his face, and then pain. He hissed and tensed, but trusted her enough not to try and move away.

"Yeah, sorry." Noel said. She let out a slow exhale. "Alright go ahead. Try not to move."

Trying not to think too deeply about what she had said, Alain took in a breath. He focused on his grimoire, using the materia within to mold and shape the aether of his spell. He mumbled under his breath and with a small flick of his wrist released it. He saw the flash of blue even through his closed eyelids, and then the pain in his face ebbed, replaced by itchiness as it healed and then finally, nothing.

"There, that's better." Noel said, and he could hear the smile return to her voice. She wiped some blood off the side of his face. "And look, you got a kickass scar from it."

"Yaaaaay." Alain said sarcastically.

"I like it. Makes you look rugged." Noel said. She stopped wiping at his face. "Does that hurt?"

"Does what hurt?"

There was a pause in which he heard a weird thumping noise. "This."

Alain stared at the fuzzy blob that was her. "I don't know what you're doing."

The thumping grew louder and finally he felt it - she was flicking his ear, pretty hard at this point. He reached up to grab it and was startled to find his hand felt much more ear than his ear felt hand.

"Oh," Noel's voice was rather faint. "Well, at least it's all back on."

"All back- Did- Did he cut my ear off!?"

"No! I mean, not… Not all of it! It was just a little…" She made some gesture that he couldn't see enough to understand. "A little w...wobbly."

"That sonovabitch I'm gonna knock his perfect fucking teeth out!"

"Oh come now, Alain, here…" She pressed his glasses into his hand. He put them on and the world came back into sharp focus. Noel stared at him, her silver eyes earnest. "He didn't mean to, you know him better than that."

"He's the one that challenged me to a duel-"

"To first blood, for my honor," Noel cut him off. "You know that doesn't mean anything, he was just posturing."

"Yeah, posturing, that's why he cut my face open."

"And looked mortified the moment it happened."

"Whose side are you on here?" Alain demanded.

Noel's eyes dropped. She stood, taking a few steps away from him. Her skin was the blue-grey of the predawn sea, and she nearly blended away into the stone walls surrounding them. "You know it's not that simple." She said quietly.

Alain scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring at nothing in particular. "Yeah, I know." He muttered. He wasn't mad at her, not really. Things had started out simple. They had met in a pub just like The Bad Breath many years ago. Noel had walked right up to him, sequestered in his little corner, hands on her hips. 'What kind of guy brings a book out to a bar?' She had asked him. The truthful answer was _the one whose shitty brother found out what library he frequents_, but Alain had looked at her and in the first (and last) moment of true audacity of his life, he'd said 'Your kind of guy, hopefully.'

And that had been that. Each as surprised as the other, his dumb line had worked, and for a long while, they were happy. He had no prospects, bastard that he was, but she was not the heir to her house and was free to do as she wished. They even dared to hope for a future together.

Then Alain's father found out, and within months, Noel was promised to another. Varian Villenueve, perfect son and heir to his own house, would have a beautiful wife in Noel Rousseau, carrying on the long and proud history of Elezahn nobility. To the world Alain became the interloper in a wonderful storybook marriage, a bastard who craved that which was not his.

There was no room in Elezahn tradition for star-crossed lovers.


End file.
